He’s Coming Here!

March 17, 2016

So, if you’re keeping up, I was talking to two Indians on Ok Stupid and one of them turned out to be still married and the other one was sending up red flags with his repeated inquiries about the bottom half of my body.

Well, he turned it around. Mr. Houston persisted and within a few days we were texting regularly. He called me one night and we talked for an hour. That became an almost daily ritual, hours on the phone, often with perfectly comfortable silent pauses.

He voice is wonderful. Perfect accent and a way of humming lowly when he’s thinking. He’s a little goofy looking from his pictures but his personality has me hooked. He has a start up company selling and installing solar panels. He’s confident and bold and picks on me. He reminds me of Z.

After only a couple of weeks of daily conversations I was crushing hard.

He wanted to see me. We talked about the first of the month. That was so long, he said. I had a story due Sunday so I told him I couldn’t meet him this weekend. “Finish it by Saturday afternoon,” he said. “I’ll come Saturday night.”

I made no promises but skipped my walks so I could make phone calls and write a solid first draft.

Saturday night became Saturday by noon. I kept writing.

Then he texted, “I’m coming Friday night.”

I asked for an extension on my deadline. I had a solid rough draft down.

“Ok, Let’s do this,” I told him.

The night before I had practically fallen asleep with his voice in my ear. He told me stories of his life and asked me endless questions. He said he hadn’t felt this kind of connection with anyone in a long time.

Of course, I’m scared to death. He reminds of Pumpkin Patch a little. The sweet words, the ease, the things in common. But I can already see hints of an impending crash. “I don’t want to get into a serious relationship right away.” It’s going to be Pumpkin Patch all over again. I’m going to fall head over heels only to have to walk away when he wants to “see other people.” This guy is going to hurt me bad.

And then I-10 got flooded.

It wouldn’t be open in time for the weekend.

I didn’t think he would want to take the long detours available so I gave him an out to reschedule.

“I found a cheap flight,” he texted.

“Really?” I asked incredulously.

We went back and forth about the possibilities. I’d have to pick him up in Baton Rouge. It was a crazy thing to be doing. And exciting. He asked for a picture of my driver license so he could have a friend run a check on me. I don’t know if he was joking or not, but I sent it anyway. And he sent his.

“Can I call you?” he texted.

I went outside to take his call.

As soon as I answered he said, “I’m booking the flight. I’m coming.”

I laughed. “Ok,” I said.

When I walked back upstairs I went into my co-worker’s office and said, “He’s flying in. Oh my God.”

We agreed that it was both a foolish and dangerous thing to do but also pretty fucking romantic.

“I’ll have to have a group of people checking up on me every hour on the hour,” I said.

This could go a lot of ways. I might be not at all attracted to him. He might not be attracted to me. He could be a serial killer. It could be great, we could have a great weekend and then I never hear from him again. Or I could fall in love and he could fall in love and I could move to Houston and find a great job and live happily ever after.